


on a roll

by brawlite



Series: liminal spaces [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, Diners, Food, Hand-feeding, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Pining, Secret Identity, a gratuitous amount of pet names as per usual, a long-arch of emotional self realization, a smattering of angst, a truly astounding amount of obliviousness on peter's part when it comes to his own emotions, andrew garfield is my spiderman but feel free to imagine him however your heart desires, crushes and sort-of panic over them, i realized this should be rated t and not m i'm not sure what i was thinking, pre-relationship really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite
Summary: Peter Parker and Deadpool walk into abardinerMexican-Asian fusion diner-plus-bar. That's it. That's the joke.





	on a roll

It’s got to be a coincidence.

A really, really terrible coincidence.

Right?

The second Peter walks into the all-night Mexican-Asian fusion diner-plus-bar, he knows he’s made a mistake. It’s not the delicious smell of deep-fried chipotle-plus-wasabi batter that tells him this, but instead, the too-familiar red-suited figure sitting in a booth right across from the door. Aw, heck.

Peter can’t help but freeze the second he makes eye-contact (is it eye contact? he _thinks_ he’s made eye contact, but it’s so hard to tell with that damn suit). He takes mental stock of everything, like this is about to be a shoot-out instead of a casual encounter in a restaurant at 11 PM. Then again, with Deadpool, anything has the potential of becoming anything else.

Anyway, mental stock:

 **Location:** Mexican-Asian fusion diner-plus-bar on 50th and 8th  
**Time:** 11PM  
**Current Identity:** Peter Parker  
**Tools:** Suit, in backpack. Also in backpack: physics textbook, a half-eaten bag of pull-and-peel twizzlers, a StarkPad, and about five un-working pens.  
**Options:**  
Ignore Deadpool, eat, and leave.  
Ignore Deadpool, order food to go, get food, and leave.  
Ignore Deadpool, turn around, get Chinese delivery.

Deadpool whistles, a low and sharp noise from underneath his mask -- unignorable -- thereby negating every option.

“Hey baby, come here often?” the merc says, with the flirty tone of voice Peter has gotten so used to. He has to bite his tongue to keep from responding with something biting like he’s used to. He’s not Spider-Man right now -- he’s just Peter Parker. And Peter Parker doesn’t know Deadpool. Not that that’s stopping Deadpool from talking to him, evidently.

He ignores Deadpool anyway and slides into a booth on the other end of the restaurant. He doesn’t put his back to the mercenary (he’s not _that_ stupid), but he does arrange himself so he doesn’t have to look directly at the man. Option #1 it is. Maybe if Peter ignores him, Deadpool will give up and leave him alone. It’s a good enough theory, but it doesn’t take into account that the restaurant is pretty much empty of other people and Deadpool is...well, he’s Deadpool.

A minute after Peter is handed a menu, Deadpool slides into the booth across from him. Peter can see the flash of red, but he holds up his menu to distract himself. More like: to hide himself.

“Playing hard to get?” Deadpool says. God, is his voice familiar. Low and sweet and just so positively friendly. “Yeah, you’re right, I do love a challenge. Working up an appetite before a meal is the _best_.”

For all the public knows, Deadpool is a dangerous mercenary who is maybe insane. He’s a super-powered individual who sometimes works with the Avengers, who also, more often than not, causes mass-destruction wherever he ends up. For all Peter knows, he’s -- well, he’s just that. He’s also just a guy. An annoying guy. He’d be harmless if he wasn’t capable of so much devastation and chaos -- so, well, he’s not really harmless at all, actually.

There are plenty of people who would balk or fawn at the idea of a superhuman sitting across from them at a diner, hero or villain alike. Neither of those are good options for the situation, though. Peter decides that it’s best to play this whole thing as a cynical and uninterested civilian. There’s plenty enough of those around.

“Not interested, thanks,” Peter says, and tilts his menu up higher. He considers the merits of each of the tempura tacos, weighting the different flavors in his head while studiously not paying attention to his new table-mate.

Deadpool hums.

Suddenly, there’s a red gloved-hand pressing down on his menu, pushing it to the table so that Peter’s face is entirely un-shielded. Peter closes his eyes for a moment, trying to bite down the Deadpool-related anger he can feel bubbling up inside him. Peter is so _tired_. He just wants to relax, to eat, and then to go home and go to sleep. When he opens his eyes, Deadpool’s face is mere inches from his own.

“Gosh, you’re pretty,” Deadpool says.

Without his mask, Peter feels naked. Exposed. He feels _vulnerable_ \-- which is really not something he wants to feel around Deadpool at all.

“My name’s Wade,” Deadpool says. Peter feels like he can see little heart emojis floating around Wade’s head like a crown, but then he blinks and they’re gone. “What’s yours?”

“I’m really just here to eat, sorry.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby. Can’t I just get a name? Pretty please?”

Peter tries to tug the menu out from underneath Deadpool’s hand. He doesn’t try very hard, so the menu goes nowhere and Peter is just reminded of how strong Wade can be.

“With a cherry on top?”

Peter sighs. Wade sounds so sincere. Maybe the merc’ll go away if he just gives him this. “It’s Peter,” he says, before he can think better of it. He immediately regrets it, realizing he could have just given Deadpool a fake name. He never would have known the difference. _Ugh_. Sleep deprivation is the worst thing to happen to intelligent thought.

“Petey,” Wade says dreamily. The name sounds fond in his mouth. Peter immediately hates it.

He’s saved from his rage, though, by the waitress coming over to take his order. Their order, apparently.

“Yeah, can I get an order of the shishito peppers, a kimchee fried rice, and the shrimp tempura tacos, please,” Peter asks.

Deadpool orders about twenty different rolls. In fact, he orders every roll on the menu, plus a few others he’s designed personally -- likely, on the spot. Peter hands back his menu with a sigh. Maybe he can still get his food to go. The problem, however, is that Deadpool is unpredictable. Peter knows, at least slightly, how Deadpool will react to Spider-Man snubbing him (it happens often enough), but he _doesn’t_ know how the man will react to some random college student rejecting him outright. For all that Deadpool is a confident flirt, Peter knows that he has self-hatred issues running about a mile deep. He’s an unknown quantity when it comes to rejection. Besides -- Peter doesn’t even have that much experience with letting people down easy, he’s usually the one being let down.

Well, other than when it comes to snubbing Deadpool’s advances. Then, he knows how to let him down hard.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

Peter tries not to think of how absurd they look right now, a masked mercenary and a college student at a late-night diner. He tries not to think about how absurd this whole situation is, with him knowing Deadpool and Deadpool not knowing him.

“Uh, thanks,” Peter says. It’s not really something he hears often, but he also doesn’t know how to accept a compliment from Wade that sounds so heartfelt, but also cheesy. “I can’t really say the same to you,” Peter says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. It feels rude to not say anything at all, and it’s easy to respond back with a little bit his usual sass.

“You can take my word for it that I have bee-ee-ay--you-tee-full eyes,” Wade tells him. “Like glimmering azure pools. They’re endless.”

“Endless eyes sounds like something out of a horror movie,” Peter says.

“Baby, you don’t know how right that is.” Suddenly, Wade sounds serious again. Uh oh.

“You’re covered in endless eyes?” Peter asks, knowing he might have mis-stepped. He knows that Wade is sensitive about his skin. He’s referenced his horror-movie looks to Spider-Man many a time before. The merc seems to think appearances are everything. Peter’s heart hammers a little guiltily in his chest -- he hadn’t meant to drag up old wounds. Or, old scars. So, he continues and says: “I didn’t realize I was sitting across from an angel.”

Wade is quiet for a moment, just staring at Peter with those wide white circles of his mask. Then -- then, he laughs. He just folds himself into giggles, loud and boisterous on his side of the booth. Peter gets kicked a couple times as Wade flails in his seat. Eventually he settles down, brushing his fingers underneath where his eyes would be, like he’s wiping away tears. “I’m an _angel_. Petey, you crack me up. You’re the best,” Deadpool says. “I think I’m a little in love.”

Peter swallows. It’s not like it’s a sentiment he’s never heard before from Deadpool, but Wade has always professed his love for the masked hero Spider-Man -- not Peter. And, when Peter has on the mask and the suit -- he’s, well -- he’s a different person. He’s faster and cleverer and much more self confident. Not to mention that he’s a _hero_. Deadpool loves him because he’s a hero -- it’s all very hero-worshipy.

Like this, unmasked, Peter is just a college kid at a diner in the middle of the night. Without the suit, he is...average.

“Sorry, did I come on too strong?” Wade asks, snagging one of the shishito peppers before the waitress even has a chance to put down the plate in front of Peter. “Ack -- _too hot, hot damn!_ ” he says as he flips up his mask, like Peter’s seen him do countless times, revealing his scarred chin, and begins to chow down on the steaming thing. While Deadpool seems to care a lot about his appearance, he doesn’t seem to mind showing his chin too much. Maybe it’s because the guy has got good angles. -- _What_? Peter’s got eyes. He can appreciate a good bone structure when he sees it.

“You’re fine,” Peter says, because he’s unsure of what _else_ to say. He begins eating a pepper too, even though they’re too hot, mostly because eating is easier than talking.

“I _am_ fine, thank you for noticing! Anyway, everyone always tells me I come on strong. But I think a little enthusiasm should be appreciated, you know?” Wade takes another pepper and crunches down on it, chewing happily. “ _Call the po-leece and the fireman_ ,” he sings with his mouth half-full. Peter sincerely hopes Wade’s planning on chipping in for the peppers, because let’s face it: Peter could have a hell of a lot more money before he’s willing to pick up Deadpool’s tab.

“I’m a firm believer in telling it like it is. I think people deserve the truth, you know?” Wade continues. “Like, you have great eyes. So anyone who notices that should tell you. They should also tell you that you have super kissable-looking lips. Unf. You know? Because otherwise maybe you _wouldn’t_ know. And you’d go around thinking you’re unattractive, when you’re really, really not.”

“Uh, that makes...some sense.”

“I’m secretly a genius,” Wade whispers. He takes another pepper. _Crunch_.

Peter can’t stop himself: “Are you planning on paying for these? I’m broke.”

Wade gasps and throws his hands to his chest. Like he’s affronted. Maybe he _is_. “What, you think I’m making you pay for our first date, Petey? What kind of gentleman do you take me for?! Absolutely not. This is all on me.” He gestures to the whole table, though the only thing on it is currently the plate of peppers.

“We’re...not on a date.”

“You sound a little hesitant about that, baby.” Wade reaches over and touches Peter’s nose with the tip of his pointer finger. His hands are oily and salty from the peppers. Peter immediately wipes off his nose with his sleeve. “Maybe you want to think about it. Phone a friend, maybe?”

“I don’t need to phone a friend.”

Deadpool claps his hands together. “Great! So, you’re single?”

Peter grits his teeth together. He’d forgotten just how annoying Deadpool could be, sometimes. “Whether or not I’m single doesn’t matter, because we’re not on a date.”

Though...if Wade really does _want_ to pay...

“Ouch, you wound me, Petey. I’m single too, in case you’re wondering. I mean, my heart _kiiiiinda_ belongs to somebody already, but, like, it’s one of those unresolved-pining situations that the showrunners never actually want to do anything about, just keep stringing along for the romantic tension. More hits, more views, more kudos -- you know?”

“Not -- really?”

Deadpool just shrugs. “It’s no big. I’m still holding out hope, but keeping my options open. And you seem like one hell of an option. When you walked in, it’s like I couldn’t _not_ notice you. Like it was written in the stars, or the plot, or something.”

The waitress, thank god, interrupts by setting down _way_ too much food on their table.

Deadpool moans, leaning over the table and breathing in. Peter watches him lick his scarred lips. His skin really isn’t _that bad_ , once you get past the shock of seeing it.

“Thanks,” Peter says to the waitress, and pulls his food closer to him. Even though Deadpool has enough rolls to feed four people, he seems to be eyeing Peter’s food with interest and drooling.

Peter eats in silence for a while, while Deadpool carries most of the conversation. If left to his own devices, the merc can just go on and on _and on._ He talks with his mouth partially full, but somehow isn’t too disgusting about it. Peter’s not sure how that even works.

It’s -- well, it’s not terrible, actually. Wade is good company. Peter knows that, but he only knows that as _Spider-Man_. Spider-Man and Deadpool are -- something close to friends. Deadpool hero-worships Spider-Man, so it’s only obvious that he’d keep Spider-Man good company. Only obvious that he’d be _nice_ \-- or his own version of it, anyway.

Peter has definitely had worse meals.

“Trade?” Wade asks, pushing an assortment of rolls toward Peter, pointing at his half-eaten taco still in Peter’s hand.

“You want to trade…” Peter eyes the plate, “ _ten_ rolls for this,” he gestures with the half-consumed taco. “That’s not really a fair trade for you.”

Deadpool grins. “But your lips have touched it. Your spit is _allll_ over that taco, Petey. By the transitive property, we’ll have totally made out.”

Peter makes a face, but hands the taco over. After all, he’s not about to turn down a deal like that. Besides, the assortment of rolls looks _really good_. And he doesn’t care if it means he has to transitively kiss Wade Wilson. “Have those been deep fried?” He points to a couple of the crunchier looking ones.

“Eeahh,” Wade nods, mouth full. “So good,” he says, mostly to himself, after swallowing and licking the remnants of the taco from his gloved fingers. Gross.

After a minute, Peter looks up to see Deadpool looking expectantly at him. The merc has a sushi roll held between his chopsticks, and he’s holding the whole thing out to Peter. “This one’s my favorite,” Wade says. “Try!”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Okay. Put it down, then. I’m not letting you feed me.” That would be absurd. He’s not letting Wade Wilson a.k.a. Deadpool a.k.a. The Merc with the Mouth feed him a sushi roll practically by hand. God, that’s -- not good. Right? Totally not good.

Peter’s not even sure what’s in the roll, totally. It looks like tempura battered soft-shell crab and avocado, and it smells a bit like habaneros and mango. Wade has placed a bit of ginger and wasabi on top, and has already dunked it in a bit of soy sauce. It does look good.

“Nope, I’m gonna feed it to you.”

“You’re not.”

Besides the fact that it’s such an intimate gesture, Peter doesn’t fully trust that Wade won’t fuck it up somehow, just for fun. Peter can totally imagine Wade either pulling the roll away at the last minute to make Peter look stupid, or even just booping him on the nose with it. And Peter doesn’t _want_ soy sauce on his nose.

“It’s because of my reputation, isn’t it?” Wade asks. His lips twitch downward into a subtle frown, despite the playful tone of his voice.

As ridiculous as it is that Deadpool is pouting at him, at Peter the college student, who he doesn’t even _know_ , it’s not something that Peter likes. If Peter were Spider-Man, he could reply with a joke and Deadpool would know he was kidding. That he doesn’t care what Deadpool’s reputation is -- they’re still something close to friends. As it is, he can’t.

“Fine,” Peter hears himself say. Resigned. But probably not as resigned as he really _should_ be. This whole thing is spiraling way out of hand.

Wade perks up immediately. “ _Yessss_ ,” he whispers. “Thank you, St. Beyoncé the benevolent, for this precious gift which we are about to receive.”

“Oh my god,” Peter can’t help but laugh. “Shut up and just give it to me.”

Wade stares at him, slack-jawed with a gasp on his tongue.

Peter realizes his error and quickly beats Wade to the punch line: “That’s what she said, I know, I know.”

“Or _he said_ , in this case. Tell me, Petey, do you have precognitive powers? Everyone’s a superhero these days. Maybe that’s your power: you know what you’ll be saying to me later in bed.” Wade winks. It should be hard to tell in the mask, but Wade tilts his head ridiculously to the side and says ‘ _wink!,’_ so there’s not really much confusion there.

Peter narrows his eyes. But, before he can argue, Deadpool is offering him the roll again. So Peter takes it. It’s not a particularly sensual move, but he at least tries to be neither absurd nor messy about it. He just opens his mouth, takes the roll onto his tongue, and then closes his mouth again.

It’s actually quite good. Well no, it’s -- _really_ fucking good. Peter hums and closes his eyes after a second, savoring the combination of flavors and textures.

“Holy shit,” he says, when he has the space in his mouth to talk.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Deadpool echoes from across the table. “You are literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Peter laughs -- he can’t help it. He knows about Deadpool’s giant crush on Spider-Man, so he knows that Wade’s words are blatantly false. “That’s not true at all,” he says.

“It totally is,” Wade says, popping another roll into his mouth.

“The _hottest thing you’ve ever seen_ \-- that’s impossible, Wade.”

“Oh, I _like_ when you say my name Petey, do it again.”

When Peter doesn’t, Wade starts singing: “ _Say my name, say my name, you actin’ kinda shady, ain’t callin’ me babyy.”_

“You want me to call you Wade, or _baby_?”

Wade gasps. “You’d call me _baby_?”

Well, no. Peter wouldn’t. Would he? He _shouldn’t_ , anyway. “If I call you _baby_ , can I get another one of those rolls?”

“Only if you let me feed it to you again.”

Peter’s hadn’t really noticed, but suddenly his heart is pounding in his chest. It feels just a little bit like he’s on the edge of flirting with Wade Wilson, and he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do with that. He doesn’t want to flirt with Deadpool -- right?

The conversation is just so easy, so flowing, that Peter doesn’t even think twice about it. Even if it is edging very close to flirting.

He doesn’t get much of a choice in the matter, nor does he get very long to consider the situation, because his mouth is replying before he has a chance to stop it or think better of it or really even mull it over at all: “ _Baby_ , please?”

“Oh my god, _yesss_.” Deadpool squeals. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this AU, but my god. I’m so thankful.” He picks up a piece of ginger, puts it on another one of the rolls, dips it in soy, and offers it to Peter with impeccably maneuvered chopsticks. “Open wide, baby boy.”

“If you make this weird, I swear to god,” Peter warns.

“Cross my heart, I would never make anything weird.”

“Liar,” Peter says, and takes the roll. He has a split second to realize that now he feels awkward about the whole thing: he doesn’t know where to put his tongue, doesn’t know how wide to open his mouth. He doesn’t know where to _look_ \-- so he just ends up making lingering eye-contact with Deadpool the whole time. 

In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best idea. Peter feels like his stomach is a knot of coiled muscle, churning and hot and so brutally empty. His whole body feels warm, like he has a touch of a fever, and all of his senses are heightened, on red-alert. He feels, a little bit, like crawling out of his skin. Like pouncing across the table -- but with no clear purpose. He just -- feels the need to _move_.

He chews, then swallows. He pushes down and puts a lid on the weird boiling feeling in his stomach and tries to wrangle his hammering heart. Then, and only then does he break eye contact with Wade. “Thank you.”

“I don’t think I need to ever watch porn again,” Wade says. “That was _so hot_.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“Don’t kinkshame me,” Wade says, and they both go back to eating.

When Peter pushes his last empty plate away from him, content and finally sated, he realizes that he’s actually had _fun_. This whole dinner thing with Wade was actually a really...pleasant experience. Shockingly.

Even more shockingly, Peter realizes that he’s actually kind of hesitant to let the whole thing be over. Even with the totally not-sexual-but-actually-quite-sexual hand-feeding part of the evening. He feels a little bit like he gave Wade Wilson something close to a blowjob without even signing up for it. And strangely, he doesn't even feel too bad about it: if anything he actually feels a little proud.  

“Dessert?” he says, before he can stop himself. No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t really _want_ to stop himself.

Wade’s eyes light up. Or, well, his whole body lights up. His eyes probably _do_ light up, just under that mask of his. “Dessert?! Now you’re speaking my language, Petey. My place, or yours?”

“You know what I mean,” Peter laughs. He should be annoyed, but he’s not. He’s just -- pleasantly amused.

“In that case, I’ll have the sopaipillas!” Wade grins, then leans forward to whisper, “And then, later, I’ll sopa your pillas.” Wade rolls an ‘R’ that isn’t even there -- yet somehow, it works. The man seems to have a very talented tongue.

“That -- doesn’t even make sense,” Peter sighs.

Terrible and nonsensical innuendo aside, the sopaipillas are delicious. Peter rolls his eyes when he licks the honey from his fingers and Deadpool moans from the other side of the table. “We are in _public_ ,” Peter tells him. Like he isn’t some kid talking to a highly dangerous mercenary like he totally knows him or something. God, Peter really has to get it together.

Deadpool raises his eyebrows and chows down on another bite of crispy, sweet, delicious, fried dough. At least Peter thinks he raises his eyebrows -- his mask moves like he does. “Are you saying we could go somewhere private? Damn, this date is going better than I thought it was. Wait --” Wade gasps, then looks around. “Am I being punked? Tell me I’m not being punked. No, wait. Don’t tell me, I don’t want to see how old poor Ashton has gotten, it’ll break my heart.”

Peter closes his eyes for a moment, willing more patience from the gods. “You’re not being punked. And this isn’t a date,” he says. “And we’re not going to go somewhere private,” he adds, just in case it wasn’t obvious.

“Well, we aren’t tonight, anyway. I’m not that kind of girl, Petey. Besides,” Wade says, “I’ve got plans.”

That -- doesn’t make Peter’s heart sink. It _doesn’t_. It couldn’t. He doesn’t care that Wade has plans. He can’t sit at this diner all night with Deadpool -- he hadn’t even wanted to eat with the guy in the _first_ place. He has homework. He has two part time jobs -- one of which is being Spider-Man. He doesn’t -- need this. He shouldn’t _want this_.

And yet --

The whole thing makes him feel very confused. But that’s a problem for him to deal with later -- he’s not about to examine his emotions right now. It’s neither the time nor the place -- nor the company. Having an emotional crisis in front of Deadpool just seems like a bad call. Peter Parker knows better than that.

“Alright,” Peter says, evenly.

“I know, I know. You’re just positively broken up about it.”

“I am.” Peter’s voice is dripping in sarcasm. It’s easier to say, even sarcastically, given that it’s -- somehow weirdly a little true. Not that he’s _broken hearted_ \-- just that he’s a little disappointed, is all. This is a side to Deadpool that Peter hasn’t ever gotten to see before. And there’s something to be said about being able to interact with Wade without the suit. With his own face, even though Wade kept his hidden. “How ever will I continue on?”

“Don’t cry, baby. I’ll make it up to you -- here,” Wade says, and slides over a napkin on which he’s scrawled his phone number. “Do you wanna do this again? Because I wanna do this again.”

Peter takes the napkin, heart racing just a bit. He already _has_ Wade’s number. Wade put it into Spider-Man’s phone a long time ago -- but there’s something about this gesture that is so genuine, so sweet, that Peter can’t help but smile. He hasn’t felt like this since -- his crush on Gwen.

Next to the number, Deadpool has drawn a poop-emoji with heart-eyes.

“Th-aanks.” Peter says slowly, as his thoughts collide with one another in rapid succession. He feels like he can almost hear the cacophony of the trainwreck of it all as his realizations go up in flames. No -- he doesn’t have a _crush_ on Deadpool. Right? Deadpool has a crush on _him_. On Spider-Man. Maybe even on Peter. But -- Peter doesn’t -- shouldn’t -- can’t -- have a crush on Wade.

Oh god.

But he _does_.

“So, what’s the story, morning glory? Verdict?” Wade asks.

“What?” Peter asks. His ears are ringing a little in the wake of his realization.

Wade looks at him for a moment, then speaks slowly. Somehow, it’s endearing, not annoying. “Do you want to do this again?” Well, maybe it’s a little annoying, too. But Peter has always sort of liked hating Wade’s annoying behaviors. It’s one of those love/hate things. And it’s been going on for longer than he ever truly realized.

 _Yes_ , Peter thinks. _God, yes_. He does want to do this again -- and that’s the earth-shattering part of it. He realizes that he does -- but he also can’t. It’s unsustainable. It’s idiotic. It’s _complicated_.

So, that’s what he says: “I can’t.”

Deadpool is silent for a moment. Then, he nods -- simple as that. “Alright.” He slaps a few hundred dollar bills down on the table, tugs down his mask, and slides out of the booth.

“Wait, that’s it?” Peter asks. He can’t stop himself.

Wade raises an eyebrow, Peter thinks. “Um, obviously, mi amigo. If you don’t want this hot piece of ass, then that’s your loss. I don’t make it a point to chase after people who aren’t interested,” Wade shrugs. “Besides, if you change your mind, you’ve got my number.”

...But Wade chases after Spider-Man all the time, Peter thinks.

“You put down way too much money,” he says, instead, staring at the bills on the table.

“Well, yeah. I said this was a date. And, while I’m all for modern day equality, I offered to pay -- thus the hundees. The offer isn’t rescinded just because you don’t want to do this whole shebang again. That’d be a dick move, Petey.”

It would be. Peter is somehow both surprised and not surprised at all. Wade _does_ have a moral and ethical code -- it’s just not the same as the rest of society’s. It also seems to be pretty fluid.

“That’s a substantial tip.”

“The service industry lives a hard-knock-life, baby boy. I’m all for supporting the working man.” Wade turns to wave at their waitress animatedly. “Working woman. Working _person_. Fuck the gender binary! Don’t let the machine tell you what to do or who to be -- or who to do!”

“That’s -- really nice of you, Wade. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” Peter appreciates it too. Both Wade leaving the tip and also paying for the whole meal. It’ll certainly make life a little easier for Peter.

“Ooh, _you’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes, then you’re no,_ ” Wade sings. “There you go saying my name again, babe, and yet you turned me down all easy-like. What’s a boy to think?”

“I can’t, Wade,” Peter says. Then, he remembers something Wade said earlier, about telling people things simply because they deserve to hear them. It’s a good rule, Peter thinks. So, he says: “But -- I really enjoyed tonight. You’re a great guy.”

Wade is quiet for a moment, like he really didn’t expect Peter to say that. He shifts on his feet. “I’m not a great guy.”

“Look, I know what you do.” The whole city does, so it’s not a weird thing for Peter to admit. “Or, what you did. But it seems like you’re trying to be better. You’re...working with the Avengers sometimes, and also Spider-Man.” There was a picture of Spider-Man and Deadpool in last week’s Teen Vogue, accompanied by an article talking about the nature of heroism, villainhood and flexible morality in today’s postmodern culture. “Not everything is always black and white,” Peter continues. “Besides, what you do doesn’t always define you.”

Take Peter for example: he tries to be a hero, but he doesn’t necessarily qualify himself as a fundamentally _good person_. Not always, anyway. He, like Wade, has his own moral code. “Just because you’ve made some...shitty decisions in your life, doesn’t negate the fact that you’re a great guy.” Wade maybe isn’t _Good_ , by any stretch of the imagination -- but he’s kind in his own way, fun to be around, and terribly devoted to his own version of right and wrong. He’s irreverent and rude, but he is shockingly respectful when it’s important.

“...Thanks, Petey,” Wade finally says. It feels like maybe he accepted what Peter said, if even just a little bit.

Deadpool leans over and taps the napkin with the tip of his finger. “You keep this. Give me a call if you change your mind, kid.” He leans up and stretches. Peter watches the long lines of his muscles. Wade always complains about things destroying the lines of his suit -- now that Peter is really letting himself look, he gets why.

“If not,” Deadpool continues. “No hard feelings.”

And with that, Wade leaves and Peter finds himself alone in the diner. Just like he’d originally wanted. Only now, the solitude just feels lonely, empty, and depressing.

\--

An hour later, Peter finds himself safely ensconced in the familiar cover of the Spider-Man suit, perched on the edge of a roof in Queens. The night is quiet and a little chilly. He’d wanted some alone time on the roofs of the city before he headed back to his cramped apartment. Peter’d been hoping that he could swing out some of the loneliness that the diner-encounter had left in his bones. Nothing is really helping much, though.

He’s been sitting in silent stillness for too long when a familiar voice sounds out from behind him: “Phew! I’ve been looking for you _everywhere_.”

Every goddamn time, Peter thinks. Where are his Spidey-senses whenever Deadpool comes creeping up behind him? Every single time he’s caught unawares.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks.

“Nothing,” Wade says. He moves to sit next to Peter on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling precariously off the side. He’s always so cavalier about his own safety. “I just wanted to hang out.”

Peter’s heart skips a little in his chest. A gentle _thud-thud-thud_. He thought Deadpool had _plans_. “You could have just texted me.”

“Looking for you is more fun. Besides, I had already penciled in two-hours of Spidey-searching for this evening into my Friendship is Magic calendar.” Wade actually pulls out a glittery My Little Pony calendar from -- god knows where -- and shakes it in Peter’s general direction. He _would_. “You know how I love hide-and-seek.”

“Okay,” Peter says, because he’s not sure what else _to_ say.

“I love playing with you so much I even cut a date short for it.” Deadpool says. “Ugh, cute kid though. Adorable. Also: hot.” Wade whistles, long and low.

“That’s cool,” Peter hears himself say.

Why does he feel _jealous_? He shouldn’t feel jealous. For so many different reasons. The main one being: who on _earth_ gets jealous of themselves? Next up: who gets jealous of Deadpool’s affections? God, Peter’s got so many problems right now.

“He kinda reminded me of you, actually.”

Peter swallows. “Oh?” He can’t help but look at Wade. He’s glad that now he has the cover of his mask, something sturdy to hide behind. Wade can’t see his blush, can’t see the way his eyes are searching over Deadpool’s mask, hoping for some sort of clue. He wishes Wade still had it flipped up so that Peter could see his lips.

“Yeah,” Wade says, dreamily. Then, he turns to look at Peter. Peter can almost imagine the look on his face: eyes narrowed, curious.

“Hey, what color are your eyes?”

“I’m not telling you what color my eyes are.”

“Aw, baby boy,” and there goes that curl of heat in Peter’s gut. “Pretty please?” Wade pleads.

“Oh, well since you asked so nicely,” and Deadpool gasps, but Peter continues: “no.”

Wade sighs. “You break my heart, kid. But it’s okay -- that’s the magic of regeneration. You can just keep breaking it, over and over and over, and it’ll still be fine in the end.”

There’s something so tragic about the blasé truth behind Wade’s words that Peter can’t help but feel his heart sink. He doesn’t like the idea of Wade’s heart breaking repeatedly, even if Wade’s just joking. Peter especially doesn’t like the idea of being the one doing the breaking, even if he doesn’t think he’s capable of actually breaking Wade’s heart. Wade’s got a hero-worshiping crush on Spider-Man -- that’s not really the kind of thing that ends in heartbreak. It doesn’t allow much room for any depth of emotion.

“I could tell you that they’re purple, and you’d never know the difference.”

“If I guess, will you tell me if I’m right?”

Peter shrugs.

“Are they brown?” Deadpool asks. When Peter turns to look at him, Wade is mere inches away, staring intently at him.

Peter swallows, feeling rather queasy about the prospect of lying. Or maybe he’s queasy about the fact that Wade guessed correctly on the first try. Maybe he’s just queasy about all of it.

“Yeah,” Peter finally says, voice soft.

“Ooh, Fleetwood Mac,” Deadpool gasps. _“Do you have to have me, the way that I want you_?”

Peter doesn’t know how to respond. Then, after too much silence, it seems like he’s waited too long. His own answer feels too obvious: _Yes_. Apparently. Even Peter doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. “It’s late,” Peter says, finally.

Deadpool yawns, throwing his arms above his head in a long stretch. When he brings them back down, he lets one land arm so incredibly not-smoothly over Peter’s shoulder. After a beat, Wade whispers, “How did that get there?”

Peter rolls his eyes, though the mask hides it. “I know you don’t need to sleep, but I do.” He doesn’t shrug off the arm -- it feels like a huge step. Like he’s yelling his affections from the rooftops, instead of just...not moving.

Wade doesn’t make a huge deal about it, though. They just sit in silence for a long moment, pressed kind of against each other, sharing body heat in the chilly night.

“Alright,” Peter says, finally shrugging off Wade’s arm so that he can stand up. “It’s bedtime.”

“Do you need me to tuck you in?” Wade asks. “I’m an expert.”

“No.”

“He really does remind me of you,” Deadpool says, before Peter can swing off the rooftop.

“What?”

“The kid. The one I was on a date with. Well -- maybe it wasn’t a date. Sure seemed like one at the end, though. He was cute. Brown hair, brown eyes. Real nerdy, kinda reserved. Great lips. -- Hey,” Deadpool says. “Were you at a Mexican-Asian fusion diner earlier?”

“Goodnight, Deadpool.”

“ _Baby boy_ ,” Deadpool whines. “You can’t just leave me here in suspense like this. I don’t deserve a cliffhanger ending! You’re better than that! You’re a _good person!_ ”

“ _Goodnight_ , Wade,” Peter says, before finally letting himself swing away.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) i am obsessed with shishito peppers. if you haven't tried them, you must.  
> 2.) hello, i am new here. i have _no goddamn idea_ what i'm doing -- sorry!  
>  3.) this was an exercise in attempting to actually write dialogue, instead of avoiding it like i normally do.  
> 4.) thank you to the lovely [acroamatica](http://acroamatica.tumblr.com) for glancing this over before i threw it into the world. also, for the perfect title idea.  
> 5.) comments and kudos always appreciated.
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](http://brawlite.tumblr.com), if you are so inclined.


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